28 Days Later
by Digital Tempest
Summary: Being unconquerable lies within yourself. Being conquerable lies within the enemy. 28 days later, it would start with a scream... Post X3. [Ch 2. Project Freedom Force]
1. 00: Psi Break

**_Disclaimer:_** If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended. That you did but slumber'd here while these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme is no more yielding then a dream. Gentles, do not reprehend. If you pardon, we will mend _(Shakespeare)._ I don't own any characters recognizable from _X-Men_. Marvel, Fox, et al, owns all characters. No copyright infringement intended.

**_Author's Notes: _**Loosely inspired by the movie _28 Days Later_, which I was re-watching in preparation to see _28 Weeks Later_ when this idea came to me. This was also inspired by _28 Days Later: The Aftermath_,which is the comic that acts as a bridge between the two movies. There's a bit of comic-verse mixing in this one, but you're not required to be well versed on comic-verse to get this because I've taken many liberties (since movie-verse allows that).

**_28 Days Later_**_  
by Digital Tempest_

_Being unconquerable lies within yourself; being conquerable lies within the enemy._  
**_The Art of War_**_, Sun Tzu_

**_Prologue  
Psi Break_**

Ororo's eyes snapped open as she sat up in her bed quickly. She held her hands over her ears, trying to silence the screams that ripped through her, but they continued to grip at her mind, pulsating red and bright behind her lids every time she blinked. "No," she whispered, shaking her head. She couldn't stop it. With each passing second, it grew louder, more intense.

_Dear goddess, it was in her head._

It fueled a sense of urgency in her, forcing her from her bed. She had to find the source. And she had to find it _now_.She rushed from her attic room, blind to everything. Her stress continued to mount, pushing her to run harder, faster.She skittered across the floor, nearly falling in the process on the second story, but she maintained her balance in her scramble. She paused before reaching the stairs as the screams hit an agonizing zenith. She leaned against the wall, moaning softly, as pain seared through her head. Once it subsided, she breathed deeply. She would not be stopped.

She rushed down the stairs, her feet tangling themselves in her gown. A scream curdled in her throat as she slid down the rest of the stairs, every bump fueling her raging adrenalin. She barely breathed a sigh of godly thanks when she reached the landing with limbs intact. Ignoring the pains shooting through her body, she struggled to her feet, running to the doors. She ran out into the night.

She crushed the damp grass beneath foot as she ran blindly across the grounds, searching for something—no, searching for _someone_. But who? She wouldn't know who it was until she saw them. She slowed when her lungs begged for reprieve; her legs uttered a similar plea. She breathed heavily, desperately pulling in the needed oxygen. She held a hand to her chest turning around in frantic circles, searching the dark. There was no one there. The screaming in her head had subsided as well, but the remains of the frenzied cry still chilled her blood.

She heard soft footsteps behind her, and she turned sharply to face the person. "You heard it, too, Logan?" she said, relieved that it was only him. She needed to know she wasn't going crazy, that she was starting to make up things in her mind.

He nodded slowly, but if that noise hadn't woken him, listening to her race down the hallway and fall down the stairs would have. He wanted to ask if she was okay, but she didn't seem to take kindly to him being concerned about her. She told him to save that for those who deserved it such as the kids. "What was it?" he asked. He'd never heard anything like it. Actually, he hadn't _heard_ it at all. He'd felt it in his mind. It had the raw, urgent, animalistic quality of a desperate scream, but it was different.

"A psi-scream." And a powerful one at that. She'd _never_ felt anyone take hold of her mind like that, not even Jean or the Professor. For just those few moments, she hadn't been able to think about anything. Had distress made the telepath's cry stronger? Or was it possible that the telepath was just that strong?

"A what?" He was still new to a lot of this "mutant terminology," even though he'd carved his place at the school, but she was always patient with him as if he was one of her students. She motioned for him to follow her back to the mansion, but she continued to look over her should as if she was waiting for something to happen.

"It was a telepathic scream. It's a mental distress beacon. We're all able to send one out to some degree when we're in extreme duress, but only someone with some kind of telepathic ability would hear ours. When a telepath sends out a psionic scream, their abilities help them to be heard, even by those who aren't telepathic in nature." Her voice was distant as she glanced over her shoulder again.

"Do you think it's… Jean?" he asked, as they entered the mansion. He sounded hopeful.

She snapped back to reality. "No," she said, then quickly added, "I don't know."

Whatever it was that called out to them hadn't _felt _like Jean, but the last time she'd seen Jean, she was hardly the person she'd called friend. Some lifeless, uncaring shell a woman had replaced her best friend in those final moments. Only Logan had glimpsed Jean as she once was before he ended her life. Could Jean have defied death again? She shuddered at the thought of her friend returning more vengeful than before. She didn't think they could stand a second attack by her.

_The Professor._ The thought passed between them without either mumbling a word. Could he have survived despite the fact that they'd watched Jean reduce him to nothing? Neither could be sure. Neither dared to hope that hard.

"I'm not sure it was meant for us," she said, parting the silence.

That wasn't quite true. The cry had felt personal as if its owner picked them to hear the signal, but who was trying to call to them? Were they in trouble? Were they trying to warn them of something? Goddess, she hoped not. They were barely pulling themselves back together now. They were not ready for another crisis so soon. They needed time to regroup; they needed time to mourn. They'd lost part of their family. She only asked for a few moments to themselves, but she doubted her request would be granted.

She sent out a silent message of her own, hoping it would find its owner.

_Who are you?_


	2. 01: Hair Dyes and Flatscans

**_Chapter One  
Hair Dyes and Flatscans_**

_Salem Center, NY_

Somewhere in the distance, Ororo could hear someone playing the piano. Strands of Chopin rustled on the air, and she hummed along. She could remember taking piano lessons when she was younger. She was still pretty good at it, and sometimes, when she needed something to calm her nerves, she would play.

She watched as Nina chased Kitty around the yard, her little legs pumping hard to catch up with the older girl. A Brazilian flag hung in the window of a room on the second floor, flapping in the breeze, curses in Portuguese falling from behind it as Roberto watched a soccer game. She saw young faces everywhere. They were the ones who truly made the mansion breathe life. And she was glad that they were healing.

Sometimes she wondered what life would be like for them if the children weren't around. Without the children, without life, the mansion would be nothing more than stern brick, taunting glass, and severe angles; a cold, austere building that rose above the other homes in Salem Center. Beautiful to behold, but not somewhere one would want to live. Look, but don't touch. She hoped they would never have to find themselves without the children.

"Lila Cheney, Anya Corazón, and Laura Dean!"

Ororo had barely walked through the door good as Alex's voice roared through the mansion. On cue, three girls scurried down the stairs. Laura was holding to her too-large jeans; the patches of purple in the jeans matched her hair perfectly. Anya was muttering to herself in Spanish about how she hadn't come all the way from Brooklyn for this. And Lila was already running her hands nervously through her dark hair.

"This is _so _your fault, Anya," Lila muttered.

"You two are teleporters. Do your thing! _Vámonos!_" Anya said.

"Do you want to end up on Mars or wherever I randomly port to today?" Lila scoffed.

Lila still had trouble teleporting short distances. She could only port short distances when she dedicated her full concentration to it. When her teleportation manifested two years ago, her parents said she ended up in Happy, Texas. Since then, her skills had only gotten stronger. Two days after the Alcatraz debacle, she accidentally ported herself to Los Angeles. Two weeks ago, she ported herself to France. She was starting to port greater distances. To make matters worse, she was a sleep porter.

Thank goodness for Tessa, though. Tessa was the one who'd told Ororo that Lila sent out a sort of signal before she ported in her sleep, almost like a navigation signal. Lila didn't know where she was going, but her mind subconsciously had a good idea where it was going. She'd gotten good at intercepting those mental signals while she was sleep. She'd probably prevented Lila from porting herself in her sleep at least a dozen times since she arrived at the mansion. She wasn't a foolproof way of stopping Lila. Lila did still manage to port from time to time before Tessa could ease her mind

"What about you? How 'bout you take us to Liveworld?" Anya said, turning to the girl who was still holding tight to her jeans.

"Lyn would never forgive me if I sent her here to take my reaming? You know she's already half-afraid of Mr. Summers since the last time," Laura said with a shake of her head.

Liveworld was a manifestation of Laura's own machinations used to protect her twin sister, Goblyn—a mutant whose mangled features prompted their father to attempt to murder the child. Laura teleported her to a place she called Liveworld. She referred to Earth as Deadworld because of the horror she'd gone through with her father, the horror she continued to go through by being "different" from most people. Still, she felt Goblyn was safer in her own world. She was right. Laura could visit Liveworld, but Goblyn transported to their realm as a result. They were still trying to understand why both girls couldn't reside together on the same plane—a conundrum that Ororo hoped they would clear up soon.

Intricate problems like Lila's and Laura's made Ororo wish every day that the Professor was still with them to help them unlock these problems. Not just their problems, but so many of the other students problems as well. They had one student who might actually be two people making up one person. They had another student who couldn't speak because his powers channeled through his vocal chords. Roberto kept burning things with random flare ups. Jono had a big hole in his chest where his psionic energy rested, and she thought it might be getting bigger.

Sometimes, Ororo didn't know if she was really strong enough to do this job. The Professor had dedicated so much of his life to this, and she worried that she might ruin it. She missed him. She missed his guidance, his reassurance, his warmth. What could she hope to accomplish without him?

Anya chuckled. "I guess dumping salt in his coffee wasn't the smartest thing we've done." The other two girls joined her in the memory, smiling at each other like a band of thieves.

"Can't you make a really big web or something to trap him in?" Laura asked, letting go of her pants to hold her hands out wide.

"I can't make webs, Dean." Anya snorted with a roll of her eyes.

"Then, what good are ya?" the shorter girl teased, earning herself a punch in the arm. Laura rubbed her arm, grumbling. "Ouch! Take it easy. Superhuman strength, fragile arm. Not a good combination."

Anya had good control of her powers, even though she hadn't had them for long. The girl was quickly recovering from a life-threatening wound she received when she found herself in the crossfire between the Sisterhood of Wasps and the Spider Society. Miguel, the girl's mentor, saved her life by activating her latent powers. Ororo took the girl in as a personal favor to him because he trusted them. He said there were some dodgy things taking place in the Society, and Anya was the last of a long line of Hunters. Despite her injury, she trained hard every day to the point of exhaustion. Sometimes, Ororo had to physically force her from the Danger Room. Anya wanted to be part of the X-Men. Ororo didn't know if she had the heart to tell her that she was destined for something beyond the X-Men.

The three stopped short when they finally spied her in the foyer. "Hello, Ms. Munroe," the three girls said in unison. They were suddenly the picture of innocence and saccharine charm, all grins and wide eyes.

"Hello, ladies," she said, raising a questioning eyebrow at them. "Is there something you wish to tell with me?"

Anya put a finger to her chin. "Welcome home?" More big grins abound from all the girls. And when you added Jubilee and Kitty to this mix, it became a new world order of girls. There was no end to the chaos they could cause, and their newest male teacher, Alex Summers, always seemed to be the brunt of this chaos.

"Anything else?" Ororo pushed gently.

"Um… no?"

"Okay, I tried."

Laura grabbed Anya and Lila. "We'll be going now, but we want to hear all about your—"

"There you are!" a deep voice boomed from the top of the stairwell, cutting off Laura, causing them all to turn around. Lila let out a nervous yelp and grabbed Ororo's arm. Ororo prayed she really didn't teleport both of them to Mars in her jumpiness. Alex came bustling down the stairs with a towel on his head, but the young female eyes took little notice of that since he was shirtless. Ororo tsked at them while secretly stealing an appreciative look herself.

"What is the meaning of this, Alex?" Ororo asked.

Alex snatched the towel from his head. "_This_ is the meaning of _this_! Which one of you did this?" Alex asked through clenched teeth. Ororo covered her mouth, attempting to stifle a laugh as Alex pointed to his bright blue hair. "No, that's not the right question to ask since all three of you probably had something to do with it. You hate me, don't you?"

Anya slowly pulled her gold, spider-eyed goggles down. "Of course not. You're our favorite teacher. We didn't do nothing. Honest, Mr. Summers." Anya gave him a toothy grin.

"No way, Anya. I want to look in your eyes when you lie to me," he said in a sticky-sweet voice. Anya lowered the goggles until they hung around her neck. She looked at Alex sheepishly. Alex turned his attention to a concentrating Laura. "And don't you even think about it, Ms. Dean."

"You should've made the portal _before_ he found us," Lila muttered under her breath.

"Just tell me one thing before I scream at you. Is this permanent?" His voice was low with just a hint of a quaver.

_Good one_, Ororo mentally said, watching him put the schoolboy charm on them, complete with the puppy dog eyes and the sad tug at the corner of his mouth. He'd been perfecting that look for years, and it still hadn't lost its magic. It helped he wasn't wearing a shirt. Anya was the first one to crack. Figures the toughest cookie in the bunch would be the one who crumbled first.

"_Ay!_ Do you think we're stupid?" Then, Anya bit down on her lip. _Oops._

"I knew you did it!" Alex turned to Ororo. "See what happens when you're not around? Three days of this sh--"

"Language, Alex," Ororo tutted. "Remember, you must set an example."

He crinkled his eyebrows in her direction. He was sure these girls had heard and said worse than his near slip. "Next time you have to go to Washington, send me instead."

Ororo could only smile as she left Alex to mete out his punishment on the girls. She missed the flurry of being at the mansion. She was always in forward motion there. Those lonely nights in her swank hotel room had given her nothing but her regrets. She'd missed the children, her friends, the laughter, the fights. It was only three days, but it felt like a lifetime. The crash of pots and pans made her stop short. She u-turned at the base of the stairs when she heard Logan start spewing out the threats in his off-color language. She sighed heavily.

It was good to be home.

**—x—**

_Miami, FL_

"'Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane. I don't know when I'll be back again." He sang along with the radio, tapping neatly trimmed fingernails against the polished surface of the desk. He twitched his leg at a spastic, nervous pace that was far quicker than the beat of the song.

"How can you sing?" she asked softly, as if someone might overhear them speaking. She closed the folder she held, slamming it on the desk. Standing up from her desk, she walked toward him. Her fingers trembled as she turned the dial of the radio until the sound faded completely.

She scratched at the inside of her right wrist angrily, staring down at it defiantly before turning her blue eyes his way. He knew that if he turned her wrist over and pushed away the sleeve of her pristine lab coat the mark would be burned there, glaring blue-black against her creamy skin. That's if she hadn't taken great pains to cover it with makeup as she often did. An identical mark blazed on his right wrist, but he didn't let it worry him, not the way she did.

"Don't you like John Denver, sis?" he asked, offering her a gap-toothed grin. She frowned at him, and he forced himself to keep his smile steady.

"Millions of people will die. Not just mutants, but _people_." She didn't hide the distress in her voice. Didn't he understand? Didn't the thought keep him up late into the night? Sometimes, she'd wake screaming, seeing the faces of soon-to-be victims in her head. She'd been having these apocalyptic dreams since the mutant cure. All those mutants, all those poor, unsuspecting people.

The mutants thought this was the cure that so many of them longed for, that so many of them had prayed for. This cure was nothing more than a link in chain leading up to a series of events that would change their world forever. They worried about normalcy and being accepted when they should worry about death. It was coming quicker than she'd ever anticipated. The cure had been administered, Charles Xavier was dead, and a new dawn was on the horizon.

"Would you rather I sing _Calypso_? You always liked—"

"Listen to me. We can't do this. We can't be part of this. We can leave." She was pleading with him. Moments like these were when she could hate him. She didn't want him to coddle her and tell her everything was going to be okay. She wanted him to wake up. She wanted him to take a stand with her. She couldn't do it alone. She was too weak to do it without him.

"Where will we go? Our place is here, doing exactly what we're doing now. There is nowhere for us to hide." The first inklings of apprehension tinged his tone. She thought he was unfeeling. He was painfully aware of what they were part of, but there was nothing else for them. This was their sole purpose for being born. "Ours is not to question why. Ours is but to do and die."

"I don't need you to quote Tennyson! I need you to listen to me!" she yelled. She needed him to support her, to understand her.

"Calm down," he said in his most cajoling voice. He hadn't meant to upset her. She'd been on edge lately. He didn't want her to have a psychotic break, not now. They'd work too hard on her illness.

"You're talking about standing by as a massacre takes place, total annihilation of everything we've ever known and loved. And for what? Because it's supposedly our destiny? Destiny isn't definite. Our destiny is what we make of it," she growled, ignoring him. She paced the floor.

"You can't talk like that. He'll…" He trailed. He gripped the edge of his desk nervously.

"He'll what?" she demanded.

_He'll take you away from me_, he finished silently. Her glower softened as she stopped her furious pace in front of him, and she patted his hand familiarly. He didn't speak the words aloud. He didn't need to. She'd heard them, glimpsed them in his eyes. They weren't telepaths, but they shared the kind of sibling bond that no telepathic connection could even begin to touch. Prick her finger and he would bleed. When he hurt, she hurt. And if he lost her, he'd lose half of himself.

"This is bigger than us. It always has been. We're _lessers_, nothing more than minions, and you think we're strong enough to defy it. You'll only go on a fool's mission if you think otherwise. This is exactly the way it has to be. There is no other way." It wasn't that he didn't want to do anything, but what could they do?

She snatched away her hand and stared at him in horror. She didn't speak as she walked back to her desk and slumped in her chair. He turned the radio up, the last refrains of a song floated quietly connecting them. "_It's your choice, your choice, your choice, your choice. Peace or annihilation…_"

**—x—**

_Salem Center, NY_

Bobby smiled at Marie as he entered her room. The smell of sweat and Polo for Men mixed with the funny scent—she called it "new car smell"—of the unstable molecules used to make their X-Suits. She loved how he smelled after a Danger Room session. It was so manly. She took in a deep sniff when his lips brushed hers. She wished he would kiss her forever.

"Ms. Munroe's back," he said when they parted. He sat down on the bed beside her, casually placing an arm around her shoulders. Twenty-eight days ago, he would've had to be more mindful about how he touched her.

"I know. I already talked to her." Was that the most important thing he had to tell her? Not that she didn't care, but he never talked to her about missions or his Danger Room sessions, anymore. It was like he felt she was no longer qualified to discuss those things with. None of them would discuss anything X-Men related with her aside from Ororo and Logan, even the new teachers treated her differently as if she were some baby bird.

She learned secondhand that Bobby was taking the novices through Danger Room sessions. When she asked him why he hadn't told her, he said that he didn't think she wanted to know. Just because she'd taken the cure didn't mean she didn't want to be part of the team, but Ororo wouldn't even entertain the thought. When she appealed to Logan, hoping he'd talk Ororo into letting her join them on missions again, he pretty much told her that she wasn't ready for that. They treated her like a cripple without her mutation, and she hated it.

She hated to tell Bobby that she felt useless, that sometimes she thought Ororo left her in charge when they were away just so she wouldn't feel helpless. She thought Logan tolerated her clumsy attempts at learning martial arts in the afterhours for the same reason. They didn't want her to feel like she didn't belong, but once again, she was left in the cold. She hated being different from everyone else outside the walls of the mansion. Now, everyone inside the mansion looked at her as if she didn't belong.

She'd overheard Lila and the new girl, Anya, talking about her earlier. She'd gone to the room Lila shared with Anya to return the copy of _Jane Eyre_ she'd borrowed from Lila. "Why do they keep her around if she ain't even a mutant anymore? What a waste of space for someone who _needs_ the room," she'd heard Anya mumble under her breath while she used her grapple hooks to attack the picture of Brad Pitt over Lila's bed.

"I don't blame Marie for taking the cure. She couldn't make skin to skin contact with people. She couldn't even kiss her boyfriend without worrying she'd put him in a coma or something. Besides, we're more than just a school. We're family. We're _her _family. We can't just shun her because she's a flatscan, now," Lila'd said, desperately trying to save Brad from Anya's assault.

The word flatscan slapped her hard.

"Whatev. I'm not saying we shouldn't be nice to her. I'm just pointing out that she's the only non-mutant in a school for mutants. Isn't that oxymoronic or ironic or some kinda 'onic'? She wanted to touch her boyfriend more than she wanted to save the world, to be true to herself? That's some kinda lame shit you'd read in a grocery store romance. Woman sacrifices her self-worth for her man. Lame." Anya had made large sweeping motions with her hands in the form of letters. L-A-M-E.

"Save the feminist rant for ethics class, Yaya," Lila chided.

That had hurt. What did Anya know about craving another's touch? She didn't even realize how important something like touch was because she'd never been bereft of it. Marie had barged into the room then, indignation staining her cheeks blood red. "It ain't my fault that I couldn't've been blessed with a mutation that I could control, that I was given something that made me dangerous on the battlefield, but denied me somethin' as simple as human contact."

And Anya had just brushed her off like she was nothing. She'd sucked air through her teeth and rolled her eyes at her. She stood up from her bed and put her hand on her hip, attitude making her stance hard. Then, she'd added a curt, "Whatever, _chica. _If you can't handle a little criticism about what you did, sunshine, then maybe you ain't too happy with the decision you made."

"I ain't ashamed of my decision to take the cure, but I ain't gonna stand here an' let you talk about me either." Marie stared back at the girl hard.

"I look at you, and I see living proof of the reward for conformity." Then, she'd pushed past Marie, taking the extra effort to shove her out of the way when there was more than enough room for to pass.

"I'm sorry, Marie," Lila'd said, looking genuinely apologetic.

"We're gonna be late for our Danger Room session, Cheney!" Anya had called. Lila had offered Marie one last apology before scuttling after Anya. She'd tried to fight back her tears as she listened to the two argue about Anya's attitude toward Marie. At first, she thought about running behind Anya and kicking her in the stomach or something equally as spiteful, but maybe Anya was right.

"Are you still letting what Anya said bother you?" Bobby asked over her thoughts.

"The girl hates me," Marie said, relaxing in his arms again. She just couldn't stop thinking about it. Anya would show up in the mansion when she started to question her decision take the cure.

Bobby turned her face toward his, and she relished the feel of his fingers against her skin. It was these small, intimate moments between them reminded her not to be sorry for her decisions. But still, she was conflicted. Why couldn't she have had a mutation that allowed her the luxury of human touch? Why couldn't they have found some way to help her control her mutation?

"She doesn't hate you," he said with a shake of his head.

"That's easy for you to say. You ain't the one on the receivin' end of all her bull." From day one when Anya arrived solemn-faced and cursing up a Spanish storm, the girl made it clear what she thought about Marie and her willingness to give up her powers.

Marie tried to make her understand. Anya said she didn't want to understand. Anya told her that she'd been given those powers for a reason and that's she'd gave them up for nothing. That wasn't true. Was it? She touched her hand to Bobby's and tried to reassure herself that it wasn't. She needed this. She needed to be able to touch, to feel. Why wouldn't someone just tell her that it was okay she'd made this decision?

"I think in her own way she admires that you were strong enough to take the cure. She told me you had big _cojones_ for doing it."

"Obviously, that wasn't a compliment. For God's sake, she said I didn't belong here, an' she didn't even flinch when I confronted her about it. So, yeah, you're right. She doesn't hate me. She just doesn't like me much either." Bobby pulled away from her a little. She sighed inwardly. She hadn't meant to take such a harsh tone with him. Bobby just didn't understand the complexities of girls.

She let out a soft moan, putting two fingers to her temple, forgetting momentarily about Anya. "You still having those headaches?" his voice sounded too thick in her head, making her rub her temple harder. She started having them about two days after she took the cure.

"A side effect of the cure or something," she said with a small laugh. "It's a small price to pay." She wanted to believe that. They started small, barely noticeable, but they'd built up in pressure during the last few weeks. Sometimes, they didn't bother her. At other times, the pain would literally paralyze her, making a still scream freeze in her throat.

"Maybe you should talk to Ms. Munroe or Dr. Reyes." Bobby eyed her warily, holding her a little tighter in his arms.

"Yeah," she said, not meaning it. Didn't they already have enough to worry about without her adding to the slush pile? Yeah, let's make Marie the Cripple priority number one. God, she had to stop thinking like that. She knew they worried about her welfare as much as they did everyone else's.

"I'm serious," he said. "I don't know what I would do if something happened to you."

She appreciated Bobby's concern, but she wished he wouldn't say things like that. She knew what he was thinking because she'd thought the same thing in the intense pains of the headaches she suffered. What if the cure was a poison? What if one of the doctors who'd worked on the cure introduced something into the cure that would react violently to the mutant gene? Honestly, sometimes, she did feel like she was dying when she had those headaches. She had blindly—maybe stupidly—trusted these people and their cure, after all.

"Bobby, if I ain't know better, I'd think you cared about me," Marie said with a teasing wink, trying to smooth over the tension that chased his words. She didn't want to be depressed. Forget Anya. Forget the headaches. She just wanted to enjoy him, but she couldn't get Anya's words out of her head. She recalled the quote that Anya had referenced. She remembered it from Literature class.

_The reward for conformity was that everyone liked you…_

_… except yourself._

**—x—**


	3. 02: Project Freedom Force

**_Chapter Two  
Project Freedom Force_**

The mansion was quiet. They'd finally managed to run the last of the little ones to bed, even after a round of tearful "Ms. Munroe, puh-_leeze_, just five more minutes." She'd settled in the kitchen with a bowl of Chocolate Delight while listening to Logan and Alex drone on about basketball. Or were they talking about small motors, now? Didn't matter. She was using her momentary freedom to wrap up her stray thoughts.

Earlier, she'd held a meeting about her conference with the CSA. The Commission on Superhuman Activities was barely forming when the Statue of Liberty incident happened. It was still just a ragtag group of selected individuals who thought they were qualified to police mutants headed by Steve Rogers. The first time the Professor mentioned them to her she thought it was a joke. What did they hope to accomplish?

After meeting them face to face for the first time and listening to their agenda, she could tell they were willing to go to whatever means necessary to ensure the safety of the general populace—all with the blessings of the president. Right now, they were "investigating" the institute, had been since the fiasco with Stryker, assertively so since the Alcatraz incident.

Forget they'd help them against Magneto. This was war, and if they weren't in line with the government, then, they were against them. She'd been grilled for hours on the school, their motives, what they hoped to achieve. When she tried to get across that they wanted to promote peace and teach young mutants how to control their powers, one of the CSA agents told her that you didn't train soldiers if you weren't going to war.

She didn't respond to him, hadn't known how to respond to that allegation. She felt, in part, that might've been true. She was teaching them the same things she'd learned when she was a student at the institute. She was stimulating their brains while training them to use their powers for good. She could argue that she was preparing them for the real world, but plenty of mutants survived in the real world without knowing how to unarm a man by using their powers.

She was unable to ascertain whether they really had it out for her or not, but she knew one thing for sure. If she crossed the line, if they felt her school posed a real threat, they'd tear it to the ground before they'd have another Alcatraz. To them, Alcatraz was bigger than what happened at the Statue of Liberty or Alkali Lake. The culmination of such power was terrifying, and they wouldn't let it happen again.

In other words, Big Brother was watching them.

The thought of going up against the government to protect the children was a terrifying thought. It wouldn't be the first time they'd been considered enemies of the United States, and she'd let them feel the full fury of her wrath before she let them harm anyone in the mansion. Precarious times, indeed.

"I had dinner with Steve," she said. Her face warmed when she realized how that sounded. It wasn't an intimate dinner. It was "off record," but it wasn't personal by a long shot.

"What happened to Mr. Rogers? And dinner _alone_ with Mr. Rogers, excuse me, _Steve_? This is serious," Alex said with a waggle of his eyebrows. Scruffs of dull green hair—the result of the numerous washings he'd given it—fell into his eyes. She felt like reaching over to pinch him just like she used to do when they were lab partners and he started making stupid jokes. "You've been fraternizing with the enemy? Way to go, Munroe. We always need more friends in Washington."

"Can it, blondie, an' let her finish what she's tryin' to say," Logan said, opening the fridge in search of something stronger than orange juice and milk. No luck. Orange juice it was, then. They were really going to have to talk about this "no beer" rule. He turned just in time to see Alex sticking out his tongue at him. Ororo snorted at Alex. He couldn't say it wasn't nice to see her smiling again, though. And she did a lot of that while the younger Summers was around, even though they were always squabbling like they were siblings.

"Did he tell you that you were _pretty_?" Alex said in a sing-songy voice. "Did you _kiss_ him?"

_Kiss this,_ Ororo told Alex silently as she moved her hands to her lap, flashing Alex two middle finger "F-U's" under the table for decorum's sake. She knew she shouldn't be giving him the finger. Next time, she'd make sure the dye in his shampoo was bright pink and permanent.

"That's not nice," he mouthed her way with a chuckle. He didn't have to see her hands to know she was flipping him off. She used to do that sort of thing back when they were still Charles' pupils after he'd said or done something to piss her off like taping the bra she'd left in the laundry room to her door. Well, he'd earned himself more than a pair of middle fingers for that one. He'd known it was hers because she was the only girl in the mansion who was still wearing granny panties and plain white bras at the time.

It wasn't personal. He did it all the time because someone was _always_ leaving something in the laundry room. Hell, he taped his own brother's tighty-whiteys to his door, and he'd known they were his because of the _S. Summers_ written on the waistband. _Dork_. But talk about Scott losing it. He sighed to himself as a sharp pain gripped his heart at the memory. His smile faltered for just a second. He should've been here. Maybe his brother would still be alive. His eyes skimmed Ororo's face, hoping she hadn't seen the slip. He summoned up a smile.

Ororo didn't miss the slight pain that crossed his face. She felt it, too, felt it every time she shared a private memory with him. Out of all the friends who showed their support for the school during their time of need, Alex was the hardest person to look at sometimes because his grief mirrored her own. Sometimes, he was the only face she wanted to see when she opened her eyes for that fact. They could sit in silence for hours—in the rare event they were granted that kind of time—just reflecting.

"Anyway, Steve—" Ororo paused and glared at Alex when he made kissy faces her way. "Mr. Rogers said the CSA are implementing a rehabilitation program for convicted super-criminals."

"Is there anything that can't be rehabbed these days?" Alex asked, dipping his finger into Ororo's ice cream bowl, scooping a chocolate glob with one finger, and licking it from his finger.

"That's disgusting, Alex." She couldn't believe he still did that. He was notorious for sticking his fingers in other people's food when they were younger, especially ice cream.

"Like you're not gonna eat it, anyway, O." He gave her a look that dared her to tell him he was wrong. Parting her from chocolate was like trying to part someone from their skin, it wasn't happening without some pain and suffering.

"Only because your nasty finger wasn't in it longer than five seconds," she mumbled around her spoon. They'd implemented the five-second rule in the mansion because of Alex. It was like the three-second rule when you dropped food on the floor. If Alex's hand wasn't in their food longer than five seconds, it was still edible. She wasn't sure what it was supposed to accomplish other than making them feel less gross because they still wanted to eat their food despite Alex's grubby fingers.

Logan rolled his eyes, feeling like the only responsible adult in the kitchen right now. "What is this program supposed to do?" he interrupted.

"Well, the criminals agree to join the program in lieu of jail. They're calling it Project Freedom Force."

"That's an odd name for it," Logan said. The "project" part already made it shady in his book, especially if it was important enough to warrant them giving leniency to criminals. Probably meant they were going to poke around on their insides like they were a bunch of lab rats. He didn't know if that was really a better alternative than stuffing them in one of the new super prisons.

"Wait until I finish telling you about the program. They plan to put them through a rigorous yearlong program that's supposed to address their psychological issues. I guess that's a nice way of saying they're aggressively trying to purge them of their evil."

"Do you think it'll work?" Alex asked as Ororo slapped his hand away from her bowl.

"I'm not sure to be honest. Steve didn't get into the specifics of what they actually do to them." And she wasn't sure she wanted to know. She wanted to believe they would do what was right to help them without resorting to coercion. Steve seemed like an honest person. He said that he and another CSA agent, Valerie Cooper, would be overseeing most of the program. Unlike some of the other agents of the CSA, Valerie and Steve had treated her warmly. The others were suspicious, but she didn't blame them.

"It ain't gonna work," Logan said before gulping down a glass of O.J. He probably would've drunk it straight from the carton if she wasn't around. He might as well if she was going to eat ice cream that Alex stirred his finger around in. Logan bet she wouldn't yell at Alex if _he_ drank out the carton—five-second rule withstanding.

"I don't know, Logan. Maybe it could if they're receptive to it and genuinely want the second chance. But here's the clincher." She paused because she knew this wasn't going to settle well. She wasn't sure how she felt about it yet. "After the end of this one-year tenure, they plan to train them as field agents."

"Field agents for what?" Alex asked, searching through the drawers for a spoon. When he retrieved his spoon, he took his seat across from Ororo at the table and dipped his spoon in her bowl. She glared at him. He shrugged. It was easier just to mooch off her than to actually go through all the trouble of getting his own bowl. Didn't she know that?

"They're going to use them to track down other super-criminals." She winced as Alex let his spoon clack against the glass bowl in surprise. Yeah, she had a similar reaction over her spring salad when Steve told her.

Logan walked closer to the island table. _Oh hell no._ He didn't like the sound of that. "So, they're a military strike force, in other words. What do they think we're doin'?" he asked, starting to fume. Did they think he did this for his health? He could think of better things to do than being thrown through walls by these "super-criminals."

"Not enough, apparently," she said. She guessed they didn't deal with them in the decisive fashion that the government seemed to prefer. "They're already training their first six subjects, have been for nearly a year. Well, they've been working with four of them for a year, anyway."

"Who are they?" Logan wanted to know everything she knew about this.

"Mystique recently started. That was part of her clemency deal. Even though she's depowered, she's still formidable. They plan to make her the co-leader of the Freedom Force. There's a Dominic Petros. They call him Avalanche. He generates vibrations from his hands that cause earthquakes. He's the youngest person in the project."

"How old is he?" Logan asked.

"Eighteen. He was tried and convicted for blackmailing the wholes state of California," she said, giving them the very short version of Dominic's endeavors. Logan raised his eyebrows at her. "He threatened to rip it off the map with a powerful earthquake if they didn't acquiesce to his demands."

"Way to go, kid. That was kind of smart," Alex mused. Logan and Ororo stared at him hard. "I'm not saying what he did was _right._ I'm just saying that's beyond most teenaged thinking. Most kids that age are trying to impress girls with their powers. I know I was. If I were a bad guy… Oh, never mind."

"There's the Maximoff twins," Ororo continued with a shake of her head.

"Wanda and Pietro? What did they do?" Alex said. His eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't seen or heard from them in years. He figured they were just off doing their own thing, being adventurers, like he had since leaving the institute.

"I don't know, but whatever it was it was serious." Steve had tried to give her the details, but whatever her old friends had done, she didn't want to know. She would rather believe whatever they'd done it was for some valid reason.

"Who are they?" Logan asked. Ororo and Alex were exchanging all kind of strange looks with each other. He hated being in the goddamned dark about things, sometimes, especially when it came to people he might have to punch in the face.

"Those are Mags kids. Pietro's a speedster. Wanda manipulates probability. We all attended school here back when the Professor and Erik were like this," Alex said, crossing his fingers. "Erik and Pietro never really saw eye to eye, but both of them would've done anything for Wanda. I don't think they've been in contact with Magneto since he tried to cripple Pietro. Wanda broke his heart when she chose to leave with her brother."

Logan watched Alex and Ororo share a grim glance. Ororo broke the look first as she looked down in her bowl. She swirled her spoon lazily in her melting ice cream. There was more to the story. He guessed he'd learn in time. Until it came out, that would give him time to wrap his mind around the fact that bucket-head had kids. "Who are the other two?" Logan pushed, bringing their attention back to him.

She looked at him, then back at the bowl. He _definitely_ wasn't going to like this. She barely liked it. "Victor Creed and Mortimer Toynbee," she said so quickly that she hoped she wasn't understandable.

"What?" his voice snaked low and dangerous through the kitchen. "They're gonna let that psychotic asshole loose? Don't they see this is just the opportunity he's waitin' for? And didn't you fry that little green bastard?" He wasn't surprised that Creed survived the Statue of Liberty incident, but Toad—he hadn't seen that one coming. He was sure Toad being alive wasn't from any lack of trying on her part.

"I know that's a tough one to swallow." She slid her bowl toward Alex. She wasn't in the mood for ice cream anymore. She watched him push it to the side. She guessed she wasn't the only one.

"Mystique, Sabretooth, and Toad together again? They think that's a smart move?" He wondered who this one could be credited to.

"Since when has the government done anything that could be called 'smart'?" Alex asked, adding the finger quotes to the word smart.

"I'm still maintainin' it ain't gonna work." Logan crossed his arms to underscore his point. And he hope Ororo rubbed it all in this Steve's face when they had to go in and clean up their mess.

"Did you trust the Professor, Logan?" she asked softly. She had a couple of more things to get out in regards to this.

He didn't know if he always believed the old man didn't go snooping around in other people's heads, but he always thought Charles had a good heart, one that was too good for this world. "Yeah, I did."

"Then, you'll have to trust this will work. Charles submitted these plans to the government years ago according to the information I read. He believed that mutant criminals could be rehabilitated. The reward for their dedication to starting anew would be to reintroduce them into society and give them meaningful jobs to show there was something more for them. Of course, the government has tweaked the program to suit their own needs."

She doubted Charles would've liked the idea of turning a group of rehabilitated super-criminals into the judge and jury. She was sure he would've felt they would've benefitted more by trying to help others in some way. Maybe even letting them teach at the institute.

"An' who's to say it'll work now that Chuck's gone?" Logan complained. Not that it would've worked well with Charles alive. Charles had still been an idealist in many ways. And this was a lofty goal at best. You tell a bunch of criminals you'll suspend their jail sentence if they play the part of a bloodhound and expect them to _not_ feign interest in it. It was a disaster waiting to happen in his opinion, and they'd learn when Creed gutted a few of them for their efforts.

"Nobody. Only time will tell, but the government is desperate. After what happened at the Statue of Liberty, Alkali Lake, _and_ Alcatraz, they're worried that these attacks are only going to increase, so they figure why not use super-criminals? They know how a criminal mind works, after all."

"Why did Steve tell you all this, O? You'd think they'd want to keep something like that under wraps if the project fails," Alex interjected.

"He trusts that I'll keep the information classified, and…" She trailed, considering how she could word her next statement. "They wanted to know about our school. The security, I mean. They're making plans to build a Freedom Force facility, and they were hoping to base the security on ours. They have Stryker's information, but they know it's terribly outdated now since we've revamped the systems. They thought that divulging this information would help me to see their point."

"You _didn't_—" Alex stopped short.

"I didn't. My first priority is, and will always be, the safety of the children. I told them that we were just a school, not a maximum security lockdown military facility." Not that Steve had actually bought any of that, but that was the nicest way she could tell him that she wasn't giving him anything on the school.

"Could've fooled me," Alex muttered.

Smart ass. But she wouldn't have it any other way. "I wouldn't trust them with that kind of information. They ask me to trust our government when we've seen firsthand how that works. Then, they ask me to trust a group of criminals who'll be privy to that information, too. I believe in penance, but that's too much good faith to give anyone for a program that might fold. I told him to look Forge up. He could help them come up with something I'm sure."

Picking up the bowl, she walked to the sink and dumped the melted contents down the drain, taking a few moments to wash it out. She left the bowl in the sink and turned around to look at her confidants. Both were deep in thought. Worry underlined their expressions. Logan was rolling his empty cup between his palms. Alex furrowed his eyebrows. What did she expect? She did just feed them a lot of information.

"So, if they're preppin' Mystique to be the co-leader, who's the leader? And don't you dare say Creed." The question had been scratching his brain since she mentioned they planned to give them positions. He had many questions, actually, questions he didn't think she'd be able to answer.

"Okay, I won't say it." She leaned against the counter and looked down at her nails, giving him time to process that information. She heard a noise akin to extreme annoyance rumble in his throat.

"You've gotta be shittin' me. First, they recruit him, and then they made that dumbass the leader. Yeah, I can see that's gonna be a success." Were they trying to set themselves up for failure? Sabretooth was about three donuts short of a dozen.

"From what I understand, he's not as dumb as we think. He's hacked into high security computers and escaped from maximum security prisons with little detection. So it's safe to assume he's highly intelligent." She wouldn't tell him that they were making him even more adept at hacking into security by training him on some of the hardest simulations she'd ever heard of. May the gods be with them if he ever decided he wanted to take a crack at their security.

"Are you takin' up for him?" he asked through his teeth because it sure has hell sounded like she was to him, and he didn't like that either. He thought women were supposed to be the experts of holding grudges. That _was _what they did, anyway—nag and hold grudges. No bother, he was still pissed enough with Creed to hold a grudge for both of them.

_Ridiculous_, she didn't have the fondest memories of Sabretooth, but everyone deserved a second chance. She was just giving him the facts. And he _might_ actually be trying. They trusted him enough to make him the leader _and_ to take care of someone other than himself. Steve mentioned he had an adoptive daughter, a purple-skinned girl he'd saved in Miami. He wouldn't tell her the circumstances behind Victor saving her. He just that she had purple skin and she'd taken a liking to "Mr. Creed."

"No, but we're doing exactly what he wants us to—underestimate him. And we might as well get used to the fact that we're playing on the same team because there may come a day when we have to work with the Freedom Force." Her words floated through the air like an unwanted prophecy.

"That sounds like fun. I'll bring the hot dog buns," Alex said, trying to cut the sudden tension in the kitchen. No dice.

"An' if they decide we're the ones fuckin' up?" Logan asked. Would they send their hounds after them, too? He would be more worried about that than a collaboration. This might've been a none-too-subtle way of warning them of what would await them in the future.


End file.
